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politics of fear

from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (33)

as i drive to work each day

at eighty miles per hour i slip

between concrete meridians

and rattling White Freight Liners

the eighteen wheelers heave

and pitch in the next lane

like fat cattlemen at an auction

on the radio news of war

and poverty of graft and greed

play out like melodramas

without an easy denouement

the girl remains on the tracks

the train bears down the villian

laughs world without end

among the grass beside the road

my ghosts slowly sing in whispers

this is the time we have become

this is our time to overcome

(March 4, 2020)

storm surge

from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (26)

yet I suppose it could be worse

the tidal pull and push

leaves me stranded

among the dune’s desolation

or drowning beneath the wave’s

cold pulse

                        so I take my meds

for ten years each morning

without fail I perform my Eucharist

without wine or blood or flesh

just chemicals I’m told will save me

from the rising tide

(February 12, 2020)

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Squirrel

from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (11)

she skitters part way

into the empty street

stops stutter steps

grasps the road

trying not to fall off

then leaps back

unsure what’s next

*

I rarely know

finding myself

now as if

it made sense

yet knowing I’m wrong

*

I turn

without reason

as a car

crushes past

(January 16, 2020)